There's little sense in picking up
the fragments of a shattered dream;
broken hearts remain broken,
no matter the work or the repair.
And even with the work of skillful hands
that its concrete form may reappear,
it cannot fool the hurting eyes
that held the genuine piece so dear.
Time cannot truly heal a wound,
for as it recovers, there are scars;
and there are changes still no matter how well,
the damage is carefully masked.
But souls restore these fragments, knowing
it cannot remake the original scene;
for within the cracks lie the pains, the memories,
that's worth more than some empty dream.
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